


Less Than Invincible

by MusicalLuna



Series: What Needs Verse [2]
Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Extremely Heavy on the Hurt Though, First Aid, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Trauma, Near Death Experiences, No Sex, Peter and Tony are probably pretty traumatized by the end too, Steve and Tony are Peter's biological parents, Superfamily (Marvel), Violence, just go with it, teenaged Peter, traumatized Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 18:22:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13932678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalLuna/pseuds/MusicalLuna
Summary: Steve is down.





	Less Than Invincible

**Author's Note:**

> (Spoilers???) This is a sequel to What Needs in the sense that I reference Steve's experiences in that fic as a reason for him to refuse professional medical treatment.

Steve is down.

Steve is down and Tony can't catch his breath, can't make his lungs pull in air.

His throat is throbbing from the scream of horror that had torn itself free as the monster of the week lunged out from an alley, slicing Steve open and hurling him almost a full block into a parked car, where he'd crumpled to the asphalt. He hadn't gotten back up, still hasn't gotten back up.

Oh god.

“ _Shitfuck!”_ Clint snarls over the comms. “ _It's headed north, we have to put this fucker down before it gets to Broadway!”_

“ _Tony, we need you!”_ Natasha barks and Tony wants to scream because he knows what he has to do. Going to Steve comes second to making sure this unholy terror is stopped before it makes it to Times Square and massacres the thousands of innocents passing through.

He reverses course, sucking in a stuttering breath, and chokes, “Steve. Steve, goddammit, answer me, you son of a bitch. _Answer me!”_

There's nothing but silence on the line, uneasy and tense.

Tony screams out his frustration, the burbling grief-panic, and punches it after the creature. He has to stop it, then he can go to Steve.

_Please please._

He barks demands at the others, fraying at the edges, and there's none of the usual chatter or back-talk, just heavy breathing and sharp sitreps. The thing is quicksilver fast, disappearing between buildings and reappearing in a flash. Natasha and Clint have no hope of keeping up, so they've roped a chopper into flying them over the fight, Clint as good as another two pairs of eyes.

Thor tries to slow it down with a fork of lightning that sends electricity crackling over the surface of the suit, but only serves to piss the monster off. It wrecks the facade of four buildings as it thrashes, howling.

Too slow, they're too slow, Steve's pumping blood into the street and they're _too fucking slow._

But the distraction's enough, Hulk comes flying from a nearby rooftop and grabs hold of the thing, driving it into the street in an explosion of shattered asphalt. It screeches, claws flashing, so fast the suit's sensors have trouble reading them and it's actually opening tiny cuts on the Hulk's skin, which makes Tony's insides shudder.

If they can do that to him, what have they done to Steve?

Then the Hulk takes the creature's head in two giant green hands, knees pressing its body into the ground and he twists. There's a snapping sound, but the thing doesn't stop _moving,_ how is that even possible?

Tony doesn't hesitate. He activates the repulsors and blasts right between the Hulk's arms. The monster's head is severed in a spray of inky blood and its teeth snap, but the body twitches and goes limp at last.

Thor arrives then and he and the Hulk reduce the snarling head to a paste on the street.

“ _Jesus,”_ Clint breathes.

JARVIS confirms that all signs of life have been eliminated and as the rush of the fight ebbs, fear seethes forward, up the back of Tony's neck, prickling across his scalp and he yells, “Steve?”

There's a soft scraping in his ear, then a faint shuddering breath. “ _T...ny.”_

The relief is like a gut-punch, nearly bowling him over and he lets out a sob and he says, “I'm coming, I'm coming, Steve, hold on, hold on for me okay?”

JARVIS pushes the suit to the limit without his asking and Tony is back at the corner where Steve fell in under two minutes, hitting the ground hard enough to send cracks spidering out in every direction.

Steve's still sprawled on his side, a gash across the shoulder of his suit. His cowl is lying on the ground under his head, he probably pulled it off himself; he hates it. His ordinarily neat hair is a mess and there's blood smeared on his cheek, blue eyes unfocused, even as they follow Tony's approach. One pupil has almost eclipsed the blue, the other narrowed to a pinprick.

“T'ny,” Steve breathes as he kneels and his face twists in a grimace, fingers reaching for him. Blood surges up in the cut.

“Hey, hey, stop, I'm here, don't move,” Tony tells him and swallows hard, pressing down on his shoulder. Steve groans, his eyes rolling back as his eyelashes flutter. “Fuck,” Tony says shakily, “fuck. Steve, just hang on, okay? The medical guys will be here any second and—”

Steve jerks, his eyes flying open and he shoves himself up, fingers digging dents into the metal of Tony's gauntlets. “ _No._ ” He shakes his head, the suit creaking as he grips tighter and the panic in his expression is overshadowing the flickers of agony as he pushes his body past its limits.

“Steve,” Tony starts, his voice cracking because he _knows_ , he doesn't want to hand Steve over to those S.H.I.E.L.D. bastards either, not after they talked him into consenting to fucking _exploratory surgeries_ for _samples_. Samples of his goddamn organs because, _Oh, the serum will repair the damage._ Never mind that Steve is fucking immune to anesthesia and pain killers. _We need to know,_ they'd told him, _Think of your son._ Tony only remembers the surgery in Afghanistan as a blur of pain and terror and Steve went through that _three times._ It sends a wave of rage through him even now.

That's enough to cement the decision and he nods, curls his arm around Steve. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. We'll get JARVIS and Bruce—”

Steve drops his head to Tony's shoulder, shaking with fear and pain and Tony drags him close, breathing against Steve's temple, “I won't let them hurt you; it's okay, Steve.”

Steve nods and pants wetly into the metal shoulder of the suit. “Sorry,” he mumbles miserably.

“No,” Tony says, sharper than he intends. “Don't be.”

“ _Tony, the med unit's a minute out.”_

“Call them off,” Tony says. “I'm taking Steve home. Get Bruce back there now.”

“ _What? Tony_ —”

“Just do it!” he snarls and then Steve is sagging bonelessly against him, his eyes sliding closed and Tony curses, scoops him up. “Get Bruce changed and send him back to the Tower, _now.”_

Clint lets out a string of particularly colorful vitriol, but he starts barking at Natasha.

“Hang on,” Tony breathes, cradling Steve close. “Hang on, Steve, I've got you.”

~ * ~

Peter's waiting in what he privately calls "secondary mission control", even though he has no actual control. He can watch all the news stations at once, though, and keep track of what's going on, so he knows when it ended and his dads are heading home.

Like they are now.

The latest fight took place through Midtown so Peter guesses he's got less than ten minutes to wait. He's grateful for that, because the last televised shot is seared into his brain—Dad, laying in a heap next to a car, a burst of bright red across the star on his chest.

It's been—God, he doesn't even know how long it's been, since the last time he saw one of them go down and stay down. His family is _good_ at what they do and they've been doing it for so long they've practically got it down to a science. Take downs usually only happen when they're up against someone, like, insanely powerful, and Peter can't even remember the last time he saw one of his dads unconscious and _god,_ he feels shaky all over.

"They are making their approach, sir," JARVIS says and Peter pulls himself out of his own head, twisting around on the couch to look out the window. He swallows hard, his heart catching in his throat when he sees an upright Iron Man making his way toward the launch pad, Captain America draped in his arms.

Oh, god, he's still unconscious.

He scrambles around the couch as his dads get ever nearer, almost taking a header as he darts up the stairs to the launch pad. "Dad?" he yells and the wind catches his voice, drags it away.

Tony lands hard on the pad, staggers sideways, and goes down on one knee, but Peter's barely aware of it, his eyes focused on Steve, head dropped back over Tony's arm, totally limp. The entire chest of his uniform is drenched in blood and Peter starts shaking his head, mumbling, "No no no, no no no no nonono, Dad, no. No." He stumbles forward, and reaches out, pulling back just short of touching. "No, Dad, no," he says and it hurts his too-tight throat. "Oh god, please, no."

The helmet of the Iron Man suit draws back, revealing Tony's head, hair plastered to his skin with sweat. "Peter. Peter, hey, buddy, come on, I need you to pull it together, okay, I need your help."

 _"Dad,"_ Peter says, pleading, and he can feel tears hovering along his eyelids.

"I know, I know, I know, buddy," Tony says, eyes darting over his face. "It's going to be okay, all right, but I need your help. Your dad needs your help."

Peter nods, feels one of the droplets shake free, but he ignores the trail it leaves down his cheek and chokes out, "Wh-what should I—how can I—"

Tony lays Steve down gingerly and gestures Peter forward with a jerk of his head, his expression grim. "That wound on his shoulder, need to get pressure on it, slow the bleeding. Can you do that for me, Peter?"

Peter takes a couple of unsteady breaths, staring at the wound that's pulsing wave after wave of red. There's already a little puddle forming under his shoulder.

"Peter."

"Yeah," he croaks. "Yeah, I can—" The words get caught in his throat, but Peter kneels next to his dad's still not moving, still too limp form and reaches out.

His hands are shaking.

"That's it," Tony says, low and soothing and Peter can hear the clasps of the suit clicking open, a gauntlet clattering to the cement. "Just put pressure."

Peter holds his breath, and presses down with both hands.

It's as awful as he expects.

The clean-sliced edges of the wound press up between his fingers, blood slick and hot against his palms. Steve shudders and Peter can't quite smother a hitching breath, prickling heat gathering in his eyes again. The surge of relief he feels at the movement, the confirmation that his dad isn't— didn't— It withers quickly.

His dad moans, quiet, and Tony says, "Peter, you've gotta press harder. I know you don't want to hurt him, but it's really important you get that bleeding slowed down, okay? I'm gonna help you just as soon as I get this—" and then he breaks off, swearing and clawing at one shoulder of the suit.

Peter closes his eyes and pushes up, leaning his full weight into his dad's wound. Steve jerks, a strangled noise pulling free of his throat and Peter turns his face into his own shoulder, his breath catching in his chest.

"That's it, that's it, good, that's great, Peter, you're doing great— JARVIS, where the hell is Bruce?"

Another piece of the suit drops to the concrete and Peter pulls it together enough to look at his dad's face again.

His eyes are open.

"P-Peter?" he breathes and then his face screws up, teeth bared in a grimace.

Peter's next breath is a sob. "Dad?"

Steve's fingers brush his knee, his whole forehead creasing when he looks up and sees Peter's face. "'s... 's okay, Peter. Gonna be—fine."

Peter shakes his head. "Y-you're b-bleeding a lot, Dad, there's so much, oh god, I don't—"

"Hey— b-breathe, Peter—ah!"

He sucks in a sharp breath, his face contorting and Peter leans forward, shouting, "God, Dad, s-stay _still!_ "

"Yeah, for fuck's sake, stay still, Rogers," Tony barks and Peter tears his eyes away from Steve for a second as Tony shuffles up behind him, stripped out of the suit to his waist. He reaches around Peter and presses down on Peter's hands, drawing an agonized cry from Steve.

"Shh, shh, shh," he breathes in Peter's ear, "it's okay. Shitty, I know, I'm sorry, god, I'm so sorry, Peter, but it's okay. He's gonna be fine we've just gotta keep pressure."

"Please, don't die, Dad," Peter begs in a whisper. "Please, god, please, don't."

Steve's throat works and he gives one tight shake of his head. "Not gonna."

"Dad doesn't break his promises, does he," Tony says, curling around Peter, pressing his chin over Peter's shoulder like a hug. "So he's going to be A-OK in no time, right?”

Steve huffs, a breath that's barely a laugh and blood dots his lips.

Peter feels Tony go tense around him and he can't, he can't keep it together anymore. His whole body spasms around a sob, tears streaking down his cheeks, pattering down on the blue kevlar of his dad's ruined suit. “Harder, Peter,” Tony orders and leans into his back, bearing down on Peter's hands, on Steve's shoulder. Steve arches and _screams_ and Peter doesn't realize he's apologizing until he hears his dad murmuring, “It's not your fault, you're doing great. It's not your fault.”

It feels like an age before Bruce comes stumbling up the stairs with Natasha. “Oh my _god,_ Tony. I can't—”

“ _Just do it_ ,” Tony snarls. “Where do you want him?”

Bruce looks totally flustered for a second and Peter keeps his eyes down because his whole face is wet and swollen from crying. Who the heck is he kidding, he's never going to be an Avenger.

Finally, Bruce says, “The lab. Take him to the lab on thirty-four. Is the bleeding slowing at all?”

“Think so,” Tony says and shoves his way onto his feet, reaching for the gauntlets. Thor touches down in a blast of wind before he can get to them.

“I will carry him,” he calls and strides over.

Peter whimpers as Thor picks his dad up like he weighs no more than a kid, pulls his hands back when he can't reach anymore, Tony's hands wrapped around his shoulders like anchors. “You did good, kiddo,” he breathes and kisses Peter's temple. They follow the others into the elevator and Peter watches the shallow rise and fall of his dad's chest, holding tight to Tony's fingers.

They'll make him okay. They will.

~ * ~ 

When Steve pries dry, crusted eyes open, he winces and wishes he hadn't. The room is dark except for a pale blue strip of light along one wall, but even that feels like needles in his eyes and _that's_ enough to make him feel sick to his stomach.  
  
It only gets worse when a small voice asks, _Where am I?_ and his heart rate spikes. His head throbs like his brain's trying to burst free of his skull and there's an echoing pulse of pain that goes from his neck all the way to his sternum. Steve remembers flashes of things: Tony's wide, frantic gaze, something hitting him and throwing him, Peter with blood on his hands. He doesn't remember whether or not he got home. Where is he?

 _When_ is he?

That thought sends enough adrenaline flooding into his system so the pain feels far away and unimportant when he pushes up on one elbow, panic seething at the back of his throat.

Then he's blinking at Tony and Peter in the armchair at his bedside, Peter curled up in Tony's lap like he's five, not—fourteen, he still looks fourteen, thank God—Tony wrapped around him with Peter's head tucked against his neck. They're okay, Steve's still here, and they're okay. Relief rushes through him and he can't quite smother the noise he makes as he drops back against the pillows.

Tony's head turns, his eyes stuttering open.

He's barely half awake when fear darts across his face and he blurts, “S'eve?” He lurches forward automatically, jarring Peter awake as well. “Hey— _Steve_.”

Peter blinks groggily, his brow furrowed and then snaps awake as quickly as his father. “Dad!” He too lunges toward Steve. Tony swears as Peter overbalances and topples right out of his lap with a yelp.

Steve reaches to catch him on instinct.

He hears himself cry out and his vision goes white, Tony's voice sounding far off over the ringing in his ears.

“...the fuck is wrong with you, you just about ripped out _forty stitches,_ you absolute jibbering _moron_ ,” he hears, slowly growing clearer and closer as he takes a breath and then another and another, and groans when he's got enough of his faculties back to manage it.

“Dad?” Peter says, voice small and wobbling slightly and Steve forces his eyes open again. His head and his shoulder are both throbbing, but he smiles anyway, because both his boys are all right, one on each side of him. He lifts a hand and Peter tears his gaze away long enough to get his fingers around it. “I was so scared,” he whispers and shakes his head, blinking, which sends a couple of tears streaking down his cheeks.

“I love you,” Steve says and Peter laughs wetly, turning his face into their clasped hands. Steve hates that he's put him through this again.

“I love you, too, Dad.”

“Are you okay?” Steve rasps, remembering the sight of Peter covered in blood. He rakes his eyes over Peter, trying to confirm he's all right.

“He's fine,” Tony says, as Peter replies, “I'm fine.”

Tony squeezes Steve's hand and croaks, “It was all your blood.”

“Oh,” Steve breathes and closes his eyes with a breath of relief. “Good.”

“No,” Tony says severely. “Not good. I think you took fifteen years off both our lives.”

“I'm sorry,” Steve says and reaches up to pull both of them down to rest against his sides. Tony buries his face in Steve's throat, his grip on Steve's waist a little too tight. Peter carefully avoids resting his head on Steve's shoulder, instead laying it gingerly on Steve's stomach. He's shaking, eyes wet.

“We have to figure something out,” Tony says quietly. “You can't keep avoiding medical. We'll get new staff—do supervised visits—I don't know, but we can't do this again. You almost died and I—”

Steve swallows, gingerly covering Peter's head with his hand. This is the second time he's hurt Peter—and Tony—with his medical choices. “Okay,” he agrees in a low voice. “I'll talk to Sam about finding a therapist and we'll figure something out.”

“Okay,” Tony says shakily. “Okay.”

Steve curls his arms around both of them a little tighter and closes his eyes, thanking his lucky stars that he's still here. He'll do whatever it takes to make sure he stays that way—for their sakes.


End file.
